


Battered But Not Bruised

by kibasniper



Series: Honorary Tales [5]
Category: Teen Titans (Animated Series)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Violence, Comrades in Arms, Gen, Mild Gore, Threats of Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-19
Updated: 2017-12-19
Packaged: 2019-02-17 00:11:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13065069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kibasniper/pseuds/kibasniper
Summary: Bushido crawls. He moves through the pain even when his body screams for relief.





	Battered But Not Bruised

Bushido felt nothing. Despite the blood seeping down his arms, the way the bones in his legs felt shattered beyond belief, numbness overpowered all over sensations. He focused on his breathing. His chapped lips ached, and he pushed out hollow air. His shaky fingers rushed for his treasured sword. He dragged his maligned body across the broken concrete as bellowing laughter plagued his ears. 

Bushido gasped and coughed, sputtering as pain electrified each muscle in his body. Pins and needles stabbed in his pores. Bushido willed his head to remain still, and he continued moving along the dismantled concrete. He heaved himself over uplifted slabs of debris only for his hands to splinter, pushing through the concrete and landing on the ground in balled fists.

His sword was a mile away. His brittle body screamed for stillness. Anxious resentment drove through his core, but he refused to wait. He scraped his knees against the pavement once more despite the searing throbbing racing from his shins all the way to his thin hips. Bushido continued his crawl, sputtering out gasping breaths and meek cries.

A foot slammed onto his sword and grinded into the blade. Katarou smirked, bestowing raw, unmitigated hatred throughout Bushido’s core. Katarou pressed on the sword’s hilt, flipping it up, and he clutched the tip of Bushido’s treasured sword. He weighed the blade in both of his calloused, meaty hands and chuckled.

“So thin. It’s like a twig,” Katarou jeered, slicing the blade expertly and left it between Bushido’s eyes, “but with a scrawny neck like yours, this blade will be enough.”

Bushido gnashed down on his teeth. Faint copper tainted the sides of his tongue. Bushido forced himself to attempt to stand only for Katarou to smash the blade’s hilt into his temple. He crumbled, crying out with his arms slamming into the side. He coughed, gripping his purpled chest as Katarou’s shadow hovered over him.

“This sword really does suit a meager child like yourself. Even Robin stood more of a chance against me than you ever will,” Katarou jeered, and he slammed the blade into the concrete inches by Bushido’s ear.

Pale horror contaminated Bushido’s features. He gasped, chest heaving with every breath. He swallowed thickly, frenetically glancing around for any means of assistance. His T-Communicator had been decimated, and he caught the shattered metal and wirey remains of it yards away. The blinking tip continued even after its destruction.

“To think you’re a swordsman,” Katarou crooned, smashing his knee onto Bushido’s chest and earned a dismal wail in return. “Even a little pressure can make you scream! Come on! Do it again!”

Bushido’s shrill, agonized voice echoed throughout the silent streets of Kanazawa. The street lights flickered, and people closed their doors, too frightened to assist. Mothers pulled in their children, whispering meager encouragement as they hid. The wooden buildings shuddered and closed. Chilling wind answered his howls.

Bushido slammed his eyes shut. He never condemned anyone who protected themselves by fleeing. It was his contended obligation to shelter the lamblike and unnerved. The daunting task never deterred him, and he understood his own weakness, realizing he should have been smarter. Taking on Katarou once again had been a mistake as he glanced up to the brilliant scarlet gem imprinted on Katarou’s gem, which boosted his power and dexterity a tenfold. Bushido realized why the people of Kanazawa feared such a monster, and he grit down on his molars once more.

Katarou tapped the gem impressed into his chest. “Liking your reflection? I bet you are. You were a complete fool to challenge me after knowing I obtained one of of the Master of Game’s gems. It might not be able to replicate abilities, but it’s increased my power.”

Bushido bit back a scathing remark. He wanted to retort that Katarou sounded like a stereotypical villain in an old animated movie, but his throat tightened. He dug his fingernails into the unearthed concrete. Bushido stared at his dour, crumpled body reflected in the gem, and he glanced over at his image in his sword, watching the violet bruise spread across his forehead and fat cheek. He shuddered. Convulsions rippled throughout his body, and he felt his muscles tense in his arms.

“Scared? You’re quaking. I’ll end this quickly. You won’t even feel a lick of pain,” Katarou sneered, clutching Bushido’s treasured blade. He rested the pristone sword against Bushido’s neck, urging him to relinquish his final words.

Bushido narrowed his glare. His body, wracked with hopeless anguish, sobbed as Katarou grinded his knee further into his splintered chest. The throes of pain pinched his skin. His vision blurred, and if he spoke, he was certain his words would slur.

Yet, throughout the despair, Bushido smirked. He mimicked Katarou’s expression, dumbfounding the merciless martial artist. Bushido raised his finger, shaking it as if scolding a miserable child.

“Are you mocking me? Don’t you want to go out like a warrior?” Katarou seethed, seizing Bushido’s unique gi.

Bushido slowly pointed to the left. Katarou hesitated, raising his head only for a boisterous sound to usurp his world. Katarou grunted, releasing Bushido’s sword and relinquished his stance on Bushido. He wobbled, pushed back by the force of furious wind, and when he looked over his shoulder, he saw a different world. A land of pink and white light meshed with black splotches and shadowy creatures. Katarou uttered a spluttering, confused cry only for a foot to slam into the back of his head. As Katarou was propelled into the vortex, the world sealed up behind him. His hollow screams echoed for a few seconds and were silenced.

Bushido remained on his back. He gazed at the outstretched, gloved hand aiming for his face. The kind smile of Herald soothed his agony. Bushido gripped his sword and clutched Herald’s hand. Herald helped him stand, slinging his arm over his shoulder.

“You okay? Glad I got your distress call in time,” Herald remarked, glancing down at the broken remnants of his communicator.

Bushido nodded, smiling and going limp in Herald’s arms. Herald faintly gasped, promising to assist Bushido. As Herald blew into his horn and summoned a portal to Titans Tower, Bushido nestled against the trumpeter, appreciative of his bond with his fellow Titans. All he had to do was call, and one would arrive. He no longer had to battle his lonesome fight. As long as someone was with him, no matter how battered Bushido was, the bruises no longer mattered.


End file.
